Infomercials, Top Chef, and the little boy with the talking ball
I was on my third mile on the treadmill at the gym. Pound. Pound. Pound. I was pushing myself to run harder than normal… I find running to be a good stress reliever. Even if I really hate it. I’ve noticed that if I chose a treadmill in front of the 12 or so t.v’s that are mounted on the wall, that the time seems to go a little faster. I was dividing my attention between ‘Top Chef’ (it was a rerun and I already knew the outcome), a cartoon about a little boy who had a talking ball as a friend? I couldn’t quite make out what that was all about and then an infomercial on a new kind of bra for women (well, I suppose they must have bras for men somewhere too). These women would come out in their robes (quite a few are generously sized women) wearing their usual bras and then were sent backstage to put on this new bra (which for the life of me I can’t remember the name of).
I like to run in a pack (I find I actually push myself harder when I’m competing) so I was ‘competing’ with the guy on the treadmill next to me (he was, of course oblivious). I was just hoping he wasn’t going to start sprinting at a 10 because all anyone would see of me then, is me flying off the treadmill, backwards, at warp speed. I would probably then get up and scowl at him leaving him to wonder why women are so crazy. So, I decided to focus more on the infomercial. Out walks the first victim… wearing her usual bra. She opens her robe to reveal… viola! her exposed self. Now, of course, they want to make sure that everyone can clearly see how badly her bra fits so 1/2 of her breast is hanging out beneath her bra. I laughed out loud. Loudly. The guy next to me was suddenly not so oblivious to my presence so I scowled at the tv. His gaze followed mine and soon he was scowling too.
We continue to watch the infomercial, me and my new nameless, sweaty friend. It was sort of like watching a train wreck… neither of us could tear our eyes away (all the while I knew that Tre was being sent home on Top chef and the little boy with the weird talking ball was jumping from train to train – seriously, where are this kids parents??). They continue to parade a number of women out in their old bras (one poor women spent her life having her boobs smashed down to her belly… yikes). Doesn’t nature do that naturally for us? Anyway, back to the infomercial… so out comes victim #1 in her NEW bra. I laugh out loud. Loudly. In fact, I think I might have snort – laughed but I was listening to ‘Rage Against the Machine’ (how else do you think I can run on the treadmill??) and couldn’t hear myself. The new bra looks a bit like an oversized, padded, sports bra. I must admit it is nice not to see 1/2 her breast hanging out the underneath side. But, it really reminds me of that bra episode from Seinfeld. What was it called? the manfro? the mangina? mankini? brobra? I can’t remember… but, I think Seinfeld might actually own the rights to that bra. Pound. Pound. Pound. The bra has lost my interest… I’ll keep it in mind for when I’m 80.
At this point, I’m hoping the guy next to me is getting off the treadmill soon… I have this thing about wanting to seem a bit tougher than I am and visions of me flying backwards, off the treadmill fly through my mind. I stop. No reason to make him snort – laugh too.
There isn’t really a point to this blog… we aren’t going to be doing anything ‘with or without’… unless you choose to go without your bra and then, that’s all on you. I won’t be held responsible for smashed up cars and unnecessary fondling on the bus or the fact that your breasts reach the floor before you do when you bend over. Nope. Wear your damn bra… seriously.